Shards
by DarkKnight1
Summary: Its weird, thats about all I can say without giving the story away. Don't judge it before your read it.


Title: Shards  
  
By: Vampyr64.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Co, Joss and ME do.  
  
Rating: Pg-13 -R, for disturbing imagery  
  
Category: Psychological thriller, that's what I'm going for anyway  
  
Summary: It's too weird to explain, and even if I could it would give it away.  
  
Dedication: To all The Xander authors out there, especially the ones who finish their stories. I wish I knew how you did it  
  
Feedback: It doesn't seem to happen much, but sure. Why not.  
  
Note: This is the first in a series of short fics I have planned. If the feedback is positive then I will continue.  
  
2nd Note: I know how this story might seem at first but don't jump to conclusions. Things are not as they seem.  
  
********  
  
He was five again, sitting at his desk, surrounded by children, most of whom he did not recognize The two faces he did know were Buffy and Willow, but they sat apart from him, and when he tried looking to get their attention they turned away, studiously ignoring him.  
  
The events played out before him, without and within, as if he was a spectator. The teacher announced that time was up and she would like to inspect their work.   
  
He watched intently as she heaped praise on Buffy and Willows drawings. From where he sat he caught sight of their work; Buffy's drawing was a bold depiction of a powerful female Amazon, fending off demons. The lines were defined, the colors sharp and precise. Willows drawing showed a sorceress with powerful energy swirling around her, and like Buffy's her drawing was also like a work of art.  
  
Looking down he caught sight of his drawing; a plain looking man simply standing there, the lines were faded with plain colors, dull and listless.   
  
A shadow loomed overhead and he looked up to see the disappointed expression on the teachers face. "Explain yourself young man." Her voice sounded cruel and hateful.  
  
His palms sweating, heart racing, he held up his box of crayons, the implements worn and cracked. "They're broke." he explained, his eyes pleading.  
  
"Nonsense! You simply didn't try hard enough, and I'm very disappointed in you." her gaze turned toward the blonde and redhead several seats over, who were pointing at him and snickering. "Why can't you be more like Ms Summers and Ms Rosenburg?" Without waiting for a response, she reached down and snatched the drawing from him, crumbling it up and tossing it into the trash.  
  
"I think I'm going to have to tell your parents."  
  
As the words left her mouth, he felt his heart stop. Afraid to say anything, his expression was pleading. Begging her not to call them. Her face remained stone cold and without sympathy.  
  
A sharp pounding sounded from the hall outside and all eyes in the class turned to him, faces grinning cruelly.  
  
"They're waiting for you."  
  
He shot up from his chair and tried moving toward the front of the class, away from the doors and what he instinctively new waited outside. The teacher grabbed him before he could get far though, and started dragging him back.  
  
From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Angel and Oz, sitting next to Buffy and Willow. "C'mon Harris." Angel taunted, "Don't be such a baby." Where did they come from?  
  
Before he could protest further the teacher had shoved him out into the hall, the door slamming closed, trapping him in the waiting darkness. The shadows seemed to grow around him as he stood there, awaiting his fate.  
  
"Hello?" he called out timidly, eyes searching the blackness, knowing what was there but unwilling to admit it.  
  
From out of nowhere footsteps sounded down the dark passage, coming toward him slowly but surely. The fear gripped him like a vice and he stood stock still, unable to move but wanting more then anything to run the other way, back into the classroom. He would rather face a thousand hateful children then what lay before him.  
  
From the shadows a figure began to emerge, large and ominous. "What did you do this time?" The deep voice echoed loudly throughout the hall, the footsteps sounding even louder now.  
  
"I- I didn't do anything wrong, I swear!"  
  
"Liar!" The figure loomed even closer now, the shadows swirling around him, and though it didn't seem possible the hallway became even darker, the footsteps echoing so loudly that the floor shook. And yet strangely it was so quiet he could hear his own heart beating, threatening to break out of his chest.  
  
"You always were good for nothing." The figure was so close now that he could feel the anger and hate radiating off of him. The shadows begin to stretch out toward to frightened young boy, spiny tendrils reaching for him.  
  
"It's time something was done about you boy."  
  
And now the figure stood right in front of him, towering over, blocking the last traces of light. A pair of hands reached out for him. "I should have done this a long time ago", the voice intoned.  
  
The hands gripped him and squeezed, hard.  
  
And the boy screamed.  
  
*****  
  
The world faded in around him, strangely hued in bright white. The air around him smelled of alcohol and cleaner, sterile and empty. The hands still gripped him, trying to squeeze the life from him. All around him the screaming continued, canceling out all other sounds, the sound pierced his ears and burned into his very soul.  
  
The hands that were squeezing him began to shake him fiercely. A second pair soon joined in, and a third. There were voiced around him, trying to speak to him but he couldn't make out anything with all that damn screaming going on. It was when he realized that it was he who was screaming that reality began to come suddenly slammed into him at full force and he felt the air sucked from his lungs.   
  
A sharp pain struck his arm and the strength left his body. Numb and listless, he collapsed to the floor.  
  
****  
  
"Mr. Harris?" The voice called to him and he latched onto it, using the sound to guide him back to wakefulness. The world slowly coalesced around him and he saw that he was once again in the white room. This time however everything was clearer and he saw that the room he was in was padded, with a heavy looking door set into the wall on the other side from him. Some distant part of his brain recognized it as a padded cell.  
  
As his eyes focused in even more he began to make out a face, large nose and deep, piercing eyes, staring calmly at him.  
  
?Mr. Harris?" The voice called again and he realized it was the man before him. Harris. That was his last name wasn't it? But what was his first name?… It was…. It started with X. Xa… Xan…der. Xander, wasn't it?  
  
"Xan…der." His lips moved slowly, testing the word out.  
  
"Hm?" The man before him intoned.  
  
"Call me Xander. Mr. Harris is my father."  
  
The man smiled thinly at him. "Very well, Xander. My name is Dr. Kaplan." He glanced down and Xander saw that he held a clipboard. "What do you remember of the past few days, Xander?"  
  
The last few days? What happened in the last few days? He searched his mind but came up blank.  
  
"I- I don't remember."  
  
The doctor studied his face intently for a few moments. Then, seemingly satisfied with the answer, he nodded. "I see. It's not uncommon, in these situations."  
  
"Situations?"  
  
"It's best that you remember for yourself. Tell me, when's the last time you recall seeing your wife?"  
  
"Wife?"  
  
"Yes, your wife. You don't remember being married?"  
  
"I'm not married. I think I would recall something like that."  
  
The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes turned inward in thought. "Very strange." He wrote something on the clipboard then stood up. "I see you need some time to work things out before we can continue."  
  
He walked over and tapped on the door then waited for a few seconds before it was opened for him. "I'll send someone down with something to help you rest." Then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him, bolt clicking into place, and Xander was left alone with his thoughts.   
  
The more he tried though, the more he discovered that he didn't remember anything, nothing of his life up until the moment he awakened in this cell. He certainly didn't remember being married. And he hadn't a clue as to why he was here, or where here even was.  
  
You did it a voice whispered harshly and Xander looked up quickly to see where it came from. But the room was empty other then him.  
  
you killed her.  
  
What? He'd never killed anyone had he? He couldn't have.  
  
Murderer.  
  
"No." he countered, shaking his head in disbelief. He refused to believe it.  
  
You killed her  
  
"Who?" He questioned the voice, his mind still refusing to accept what he was hearing, but needing to know anyway.  
  
"Who, what?"  
  
The young man's head shot up at the new voice, and saw the stern face of an orderly staring at him as if he was insane.  
  
"Who… did I kill?" he choked the words out, breath catching in his throat as he awaited the answer.  
  
"Ah, so you're starting to remember huh." The large man grinned evilly at him. "You did a real number on her too, poor girl. Carved her up like a Christmas Turkey. And on your honeymoon too. What a shame."  
  
"No. It can't be" He fiercely denied it, even as something inside him recognized it as the truth. He had to do something. He had to find someone to help him sort this out. A name flashed in his mind.  
  
"Buffy. Where's Buffy? I need her to help me fix this."  
  
The other man let out a harsh laugh. "Well that'd be kinda' hard, seeing as she's the poor girl you sliced up." He lifted his arm and Xander vaguely registered that it held a syringe. He was too numb with shock to do anything however, as the orderly gripped his arm and plunged the needle in.   
  
The world began to fade out again and Xander slumped to the padded floor as the darkness closed in on him. The last thing he heard was the orderly, who advised him to "Get some sleep, you've got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow. And with that, Xander Harris slipped into the abyss, his mind fixed on the image of a blonde girl and the deep gashes that covered her once beautiful face.  
  
End  
  
End note: I know its rough, but I don't care. I haven't been in the writing frame of mind for awhile and I'm still not. It's just something that wouldn't leave me alone till I got it out, so I did. 


End file.
